


Heart of the Plateau

by Mallorn



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Tarkin - James Luceno
Genre: F/M, How to survive in the wilderness, Sexual Content, Who is the greatest predator?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:08:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21634885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mallorn/pseuds/Mallorn
Summary: Wilhuff Tarkin meets the love of his life. It’s a dangerous match.
Relationships: Wilhuff Tarkin/The Carrion Plateau
Comments: 8
Kudos: 21





	Heart of the Plateau

**Author's Note:**

> This is my entry for the Peter's Pumpkin Day event on Tumblr, hence the slightly spooky content! 
> 
> Expertly proofread by Cassandra1. Thank you, my dear!

Despite the pain shooting up his leg, Wilhuff Tarkin felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth as he reached the crest and looked out over the valley below him. The view filled him with a sense of pride and contentment. Only on the Carrion Plateau did he feel truly at home.

He had fought hard in his youth to conquer this harsh environment and wherever his career took him, he kept a personal tradition to visit every standard year. He did not always appreciate the conditions the plateau threw in his path, but at this point, they were moderate hindrances, not mortal perils. This was only one of his triumphs as Governor and Grand Moff. He needed neither a blaster nor a commlink. A good knife was all he took with him nowadays, and a water flask.

The bottle had been empty far too long, and all because of this! He winced as he inadvertently put pressure on his sprained ankle. The bindings torn from the front of his shirt had stabilized it somewhat and allowed him to continue walking, albeit limping heavily and supported on a staff. It was only a minor injury, yet it meant this journey could well become his last if he didn’t find water very soon.

He should have known it. Thinking himself invincible wasn’t only a deception, it made him doubly vulnerable. Careless. The plateau had retaliated fast.

It was not a bad place to die, surrounded by the wilderness that had become his only true love, and surely there was no shame in ultimate defeat to her. And yet, getting his foot caught between a couple of rocks! A beginner’s mistake! That was what pained him, more than the injury and his parched throat. He would press on, naturally. Defeat wasn’t an option; he simply needed a bit of rest.

Leaning heavily on his staff, he hobbled into the shadow cast by a rock and allowed himself to collapse on the ground. Blessed shelter from the sun! He lay there for a while, panting, relishing how the sharp pain in his leg once again subsided to a dull throb. Then he crawled into a seated position. Each minute of stillness would worsen the stiffness in his muscles and make rising more difficult. He must go on.

That was when he saw it – a cottage of greying wood, much the same shade as the cliffs. He recognized it from the fevered dreams of his youth, which made it about as real as the feathered arachnoid and the flying nexu he could have sworn he’d also seen back then. There was no such thing on the plateau – who would know of it if not himself? Yet there it stood, taunting his senses with its bare existence.

It looked solid, and for a moment he allowed himself to consider the possibility that it was indeed there. It still didn’t have to mean anything – it could well be deserted, its source of water long ago depleted, its inhabitants gone. Yet, it was a possible means of survival.

He struggled to his feet, took a couple of deep breaths and gazed out over the landscape one last time. Then, he resumed his unsteady walk. He ignored the pain, the thirst, the fatigue – they were all secondary to his goal. The wooden stairs marked the border between staying alive and not, and he would not lose now.

“Welcome, hunter.”

The voice surely was a figment of his imagination, an hallucination, just like the woman sitting at the top of the stairs. She looked thoroughly at ease, as if she belonged there. Her features were somewhat familiar –

As he watched her, a surge of memories filled his head. Memories! She was neither ghost, nor dream, but a living being, and one he had met before! The details were lost to him, but somehow, he knew that she had saved him long ago, and maybe she would again, if indeed she was there in the flesh, with her soft hands and her wicked smile. And the airy tunic that parted slightly at her décolletage, offering him a glimpse. A sudden surge of lust tightened his groin, entirely improper and unnecessary. He needed all his blood in his brain now.

It couldn’t be the same woman, that was an impossibility. She appeared the same age as he remembered her from before, when he was a mere boy on the verge of manhood, although she must be so much younger than himself now. Thirty? Forty-five? What difference did it make? He’d have begged a huttling for water at this point. Exhaustion made him bow his head and when next he lifted it, more useful thoughts were foremost in his mind.

“Water,” he croaked. “Water.”

The word came out as a series of coughs, but she seemed to understand. She reached behind her back and produced a flask. The sound as she shook it flooded his ears with music – life was within his grasp. He reached for the flask and drank. The water was tepid and the vessel filthy, but it tasted better than anything the capital could offer. Just one more sip and he’d return it to its owner. Slowly swallowing that final sip, he studied the flask. It was an exact copy of the one he’d lost the first time he returned to the plateau after his academy years. He’d been enamoured with it, even scraped his initials into the metal at the bottom to stake his claim lest it be confused with the utensils of others. Dust covered it now, and rust, in spite of the producer’s promises, but the mark was still visible.

“This – how – where did you get it? It’s the one I lost when –”.

“I know,” she said, taking it back from him. “I collect them, all the items that my visitors leave behind. Come inside.” Her deep, hoarse voice enunciated each word slowly, as if she spoke seldom and needed each word to have a profound meaning.

“Thank you.” Tarkin had little hope of conquering the stairs with any dignity and when she rose and went towards he door, he hastened to jump up the steps on his good leg. At the top, she turned towards him, offering her arm for support in lieu of the staff. She was as strong as he remembered.

The interior walls of her house were covered with knives and flasks and pieces of rope. Even an ancient rifle adorned a spot over the fireplace. After a while he could make out layers of equipment of various age and make, but the traditional styles prevailed.

“I cannot bear plasteel,” she said. “You would do well to ban it.”

Not many knew of his conservation efforts for the Tarkin ancestral lands. It made sense that this woman did – she lived here, after all, but how? She was all soft curves, fresh-looking and clean, and her flimsy garment would have been fit for a reception for some lesser senator if she’d been wearing shoes. All this on these parched grounds that turned every survivor into a hard, sinewy creature with suspicious eyes.

“Who are you?” he asked. “How do you know?” And how can you live here? Why was your house suddenly there in front of me when I couldn’t see it before? And how is it possible that you still look the same as fifty years ago? Are you even real?

“I am your past and your future.”

“You speak in riddles.”

“Who I am is not important. You, on the other hand, are my most ardent lover.”

He shook his head. How could he be? Even if they had indeed met before, he didn’t know her, just … wanted her. Perhaps he would be more successful with his questions later. If – if this wasn’t only the last projections of a failing mind, in which case he’d do well to simply accept whatever wonders his brain produced to ease his passing. Stars, she was tempting!

“I’m very grateful for your hospitality, madam. I owe you my life.”

“I take care of my own.” She smiled. “Now you will eat, and then clean yourself. And after that, maybe –”

Suddenly the smell of grilled meat reached his nostrils – how had he not noticed before? A plate was already on the table, and his old flask stood there as well. In no time he was seated on the wooden bench, carefully chewing the morsels she handed him speared on a knife’s edge. He dared not eat much, but he drank his fill, of plain water at first, and then infused leaves. She didn’t touch the food, but shared her tea with him, taking turns to drink from a wooden cup.

“Do you often have guests?” he asked, not expecting an answer he understood but eager to exchange something with her other than piercing gazes and enigmatic smiles. “Others must have been here before me, I mean? Hunters, travellers of the plateau.”

“They are my children. As you once were.”

“Then I’ve been here before?” That first summer had been spent in a feverish state, high on success and fear and hunger, and although he must have met her, he had no recollection of the house.

“Many times.” Her tongue peeked out, in a manner he’d usually liken to a kitten. On her, it reminded him of a viper, but an enticing one. He suddenly wondered what it would be like to kiss her, to suck that tongue into his mouth, fill his hands with her breasts –

He couldn’t make sense of half of what she said. He took another sip of tea, and only looked at her when she covered his hands with hers.

“You are my chosen one,” she said as she stared into his eyes, “and if you wish it, you shall join with me.”

Only the strictest control allowed him to swallow his drink. He cleared his throat.

“I don’t want to presume, but you said something about a bath?”

A shadow passed over her face and she pressed his hands a little harder than necessary, almost enough to make him spill the drink in the attempt to pull himself free. He took a deep breath and relaxed, and she loosened her grip. She trailed a fingertip playfully over the back of his hand, following the bone from each knuckle.

“Hesitant?” She laughed. “You will not disappoint me, hunter.” She stood up from the table and went about the room, lighting candles.

Outside, darkness had fallen. He’d do all in his might to remain with her, and not only out of necessity. The sudden urge to feel her underneath him, moaning and writhing, hit him like a blaster bolt to the chest. 

“Here’s your bath.” She pulled a string to open a curtain and reveal a tub in a corner, already filled to the brim.

Here, in the dry lands, such an amount of water for cleaning oneself tempted him as much as it annoyed him. Such wastefulness! And yet, now that it was here, no larger harm would be done for his using it. He hobbled to her side. Up close, the bath smelled like the river of the lowlands and there were floating leaves, still green in spite of the vapour rising from the surface.

He blinked, and it was just water. Plain and clear and devoid of life like a mountain spring. Dizzy, he took hold of the nearest chair to steady himself.

“Anything the matter?”

“I’m sorry, I’m just feeling somewhat disorientated. I must have eaten too much, too suddenly.”

“Then sit while you undress.”

“I will. Thank you.” Was she going to watch him? He’d prefer not to let her see any more of his weakness.

Luckily, she turned to other matters while he removed his clothing and painstakingly slowly lowered himself into the tub. The hot water embraced him, scorching at first, but after a few moments he could relax and lean back against the wall with his head resting against the rim. Finally, pressure was off his injured ankle. He closed his eyes and let his arms float towards the surface as he listened to the small sounds she made with the dishes. Safe, so safe here, as if it were his home.

He opened his eyes in panic. Something had touched his forehead! And where was he? Had he fallen into the river?

Pealing laughter calmed him, made him remember. He was safe, in a strange house with a kind host, a very attractive one.

“Let me tend to you,” she said.

He sat back again, but kept his eyes open, lest he fall asleep again. She’d hardly let him drown. Or would she? The notion was ridiculous, and yet he wouldn’t put her to the test.

“Do you fear me?”

He was indeed wary of her, but it was a controlled fear, and she thrilled him. “You don’t seem very dangerous,” he said.

“You said this on your first night on the plateau, too, and I drank your blood. I took only a sip – you were so very young – but since then, my claws and my teeth have feasted on you many times. How is your ankle?”

It couldn’t be coincidence that she licked her lips. “Better,” he said. “Thank you.”

“I do not call you reckless, for fools do not survive, and you will. But take care, lest you fall out of my grace.” She let her finger trail over his cheek, down his neck and chest until it dipped under the water. It took considerable resolve not to shiver.

Her closeness affected him. Her head resting on his shoulder, her lips grazing his neck, her clever, soothing hands under the water, stroking his limbs. He tried to fight it, but it was inevitable that he would stir. Her hand brushed over his belly when it happened. She sank lower, to his thighs, and there she cupped him. He gasped. Blinked a couple of times. Her hand was still at his groin, her gentle grasp hardening around him as he filled out in her fist. It was real. And then – then she started moving those fingers up and down, rubbing, gliding…

He fought to take deep, slow breaths, not let excitement overcome him. Her other hand massaged his shoulders with something that smelt of bees’ wax and herbs.

“Yes,” she breathed into his ear. “Yes?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

She climbed into the bath with him, still wearing the tunic as she straddled him. The wet fabric clung to her body and the skirt floated up around her, baring her to his hands.

She was marvellous to hold. Her weight on top of him teased him to full attention and his hands on her breasts made her smile. The water he licked off her nipples tasted of evening shade, cool and soothing. He wanted this, her, more –

His hands had barely taken hold of her hips when she positioned herself and sank down on him.

Instinctively he pushed back, raising her up with a jerk of his hips at the same time as his hands slammed her down onto his cock. Again! He groaned. Again! A–

“Easy,” she hummed. Her fingertips danced along his until the first urgency had passed, and he loosened his grip.

Moaning softly, she lifted herself and sank down again, in a slow rhythm that was as soothing as it was maddening. Lulled by her voice, he leaned back, closed his eyes and let all his attention pool to his groin.

“Beautiful,” he whispered. The word didn’t encompass half of what he felt. Engulfed, encased in warm wetness, everywhere around.

Everywhere. He could not breathe!

He needed to best her if he wanted to live.

Spluttering, he wrestled with her and finally managed to tip her over the edge of the tub. He gripped the sides of it, found purchase under his feet and heaved himself up of the water. She sat on the floor, eyes glittering.

“You’re alive,” she said. “Good. I would have mourned you.”

There was water everywhere, large pools on the floor, and somehow there was a bed – he didn’t care to question its existence – and they fell on top of it, a tangle of limbs. She could easily have gained the upper hand again, but this time he was prepared and very much awake. Adrenaline pumped in his veins as he fought to counter her many attempts to get her hands around his neck.

Finally, he had her underneath him, straddling her thighs and with her wrists pinned to either side of her head. His back ached from the many scratches of her nails, he was angry and horny. She snarled like an animal, throwing hear head from side to side, bucking her hips to break free. He held on firmly. They both panted, and eventually she relaxed.

“I call a truce,” she said with a smile as mild as the sky clearing after a thunderstorm. Her face radiated benign calm. “You have fought well, and nothing ill will befall you this night.”

He clenched his jaw and continued to hold her down. He would not be fooled again.

“You do not trust me?”

“Forgive me, I don’t.” He still wanted her madly, but he treasured his life more. He had not won it to lose it over his libido.

She laughed. “I’ve taught you well.”

Eventually, he had to let go of her. First one wrist, then the other. When he released her legs, she gently pulled him down on top of her.

He lay between her open thighs, sighing with pleasure as she welcomed him. His mouth grazed her breast, his fingers stroked over her belly and below, gliding along slick and swollen nether lips, then venturing inside. So much warm wetness, and her sighs and moans, her skin hot against him.

With a grunt and a steady thrust he entered her, then paused, the sensation threatening to overwhelm him. They lay panting together, until she lifted her hips and pushed against him.

“More,” she said.

Her eyes told him clearly: she was his now. This wondrous woman chose to surrender to him. The realisation filled him with pride and a ridiculous sensation of joy. Her hands on his arse pulled him deeper into her, an invitation he was long past resisting. He gave her all, his strength, his power, his very essence poured into forceful thrusts until she’d wrung every ounce from him. He would have passed out from bliss, had he dared to.

Then she lapped the sweat from his shoulders and ran her fingers through his hair. She whined like a small rodent until he gave her the slightest reaction, stroking her side slowly. So soft now, sated, as if the earlier turmoil had not happened and they were simply lovers. He could get used to that.

He must not. There was no telling for how long she’d be in her present mood; remaining with her would only be marginally safer than to venture out into the night. At least he knew what to expect from a night on the plateau. He had his knife and he had water, and his leg was well again. He had nothing to fear.

“I will take my leave now.” Thanking her again seemed to lessen his debt, and so he didn’t. She’d better keep her claim on him, and maybe their paths would cross once more.

She watched him while he dressed.

“Kiss me.”

Her tongue playing over her teeth ignited fresh hunger in him. He threw himself at her, devoured her mouth until the pain in his back become too annoying to ignore and he stood from the bed a second time.

“Wait!” she said. “I have a parting gift for you.”

“You’ve already given me one. Or several.” He touched the back of his shirt; at least the scratches weren’t bleeding.

“They will heal. No, this is my gift: You shall remember me.” She said it with the air of a queen, as if indeed she was bestowing a rare favour upon him.

He nodded, already beginning to suspect her gift would be a torment. “Will I see you again?”

“I will not desert you. Whether you stray from me is your own decision.”

“When?”

“Search, and you will not find. I will come to you when you come to me and the time is right. I show myself to the worthy.”

“Then I will strive to be worthy.”

A younger Wilhuff would have stood waiting for the echo, thirsty for praise, for her to tell him he already was. As a mature man, he had conquered that need.

Stepping out into the cool night, he remained on the porch until his vision cleared. As he went down the stairs, habit sharpened his senses and shook off the remaining sense of comfort. He started the long walk to the Tarkin estate, not looking back even once. Returning to her now would be the end of him. He doubted he’d have the strength to leave a second time.

There was also the disturbing thought that had hovered at the edge of his mind from the beginning, that if he looked back, there would be nothing there. The old flask in his hand was poor evidence – he could simply have come across the area where he had once lost it –, his ankle could have healed while he rested, and the itching scratches on his back could be there for a number of reasons.

He needed to quit lying to himself.

Every time he wandered the plateau afterwards – his career didn’t offer vast opportunities for personal gratification of this fashion – he sought for the house. It was the right spot – he was experienced enough in reading the landscape, and the rock formations left no doubt. Still, it was not there. The ground was undisturbed by anything heavier than a nerf. It was not there.

He remembered her words, naturally, telling him not to look for her. But how could he do otherwise? The stubborn hope refused to die.


End file.
